Christmas Morning

Now, loosing from the fingers of the highest trees, and rising, rising clear and white above the fields of snow from which all shadows shrink, draw back, and vanish, our own sun stands high and soaring, steadily imparting there the warmth our faces drink despite the winter breeze. And though we know it burned all night as earth revolved, it burned before man was conceived, it burns at steady fullness, in its focal place, while clouds, night, seasons change; and though we knew it would arise, was always there, the meaning of this sight -- portentous reappearance -- lifts the heart with sparrow flocks of joy: like Christ we feel it born.

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